


The Scent of a Memory

by Wiarda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Depression, F/F, Fake Character Death, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 18:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiarda/pseuds/Wiarda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Irene “dies”, John gets attacked by a remote controller and Harry finds out that she has another addiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scent of a Memory

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've written something in English, and also my very first fanfiction in the Sherlock-fandom. I hope it is good enough, and that you'll like it!
> 
> Oh, by the way: this is unbeta'd. Any mistakes are completely mine.

“I am going to die.”

In the time they had been together, Irene had given Harry a lot to swallow. She had been able to deal with the dominatrix-thing, she had accepted that her lover was wanted in almost every part of the world, and she hadn't said anything when she had found a gun in Irene's desk drawer. By the time, she had gotten used to it. She knew Irene was strong and smart enough to keep herself safe, or at least as much as possible. She trusted her to do that. To keep herself safe. But these words were the proof that she had been wrong all the time.

“Oh,” Harry answered. It was all she could do. The best answer she could give. She knew Irene: she would only say something like this, if there was no other option left. If it was a fact. She was going to die and there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing they could do about it.

Irene looked at her, her face blank. The look in her eyes was different. Normally, they were piercing, full of fire, clearly full of unspoken words yet so unreadable. They were able to tell Harry things that Irene never said to her out loud. 'I love you' was a very common one. She had never said that, yet she had told her. So many times. With just one look. The look Harry loved the most. But this one was completely different. The fire had extinguished, the words were wiped out and for that moment, Harry knew exactly how she felt. Because she felt the same way. Broken. Empty.

Then, the Woman turned around and walked away. She didn't close the door behind her. She didn't even grab her coat as she left. She disappeared without looking back at the broken person she left behind. Because if she did, Harry would have been to see the single tear that slowly rolled down her cheek.

 

–

 

When John visited his sister a day later, he could see immediately that something was wrong with her. Terribly wrong. He thought it was because she had gone back to alcohol again – which in fact, she had. Irene had been able to keep her from drinking, but now that she was gone, the bottle was just too tempting to resist. Harry knew it wasn't a good thing to do, and that her health would decline if she didn't stop, but the thought that Irene wasn't coming back was too much for her. And although John didn't know that, he could see it.

“Okay, just tell me,” he said, after a few attempts on starting a chat with his sister. She had only given him short answers, of which most of them were lies (“I'm fine.” “Yes, rehab is going very well.” “No need to worry.”) and she didn't ask him anything to keep the conversation going. Normally, Harry was a very enthusiastic speaker, so this concerned John. “What's wrong?”

Harry took a sip of her tea to distract herself. She didn't want to listen. She didn't want to think about the question. Her biggest wish was to delete the whole topic of Irene Adler. To delete the Woman from her mind. Unfortunately, she wasn't Sherlock, so her mind was still full of memories, full of things she would have wanted to tell her before she left, full of regret because she hadn't said them, full of her. And she couldn't let her go.

“It's okay, you can tell me.”

John's concerned look was almost funny, in the darkest form of humour. Harry didn't need concern. She didn't need any form of attention from her brother. What could he do about it? John was a doctor. He could save lives, but not give them back to people once it was too late. He was useless now. “No, I can't tell you.”

If John had known about Irene, or at least about Harry's relationship with her, he might have been able to understand his sister's behaviour. But he hadn't. Harry hadn't told him on purpose: she had been planning on, but then Irene had told her about her past and her job, and she had decided that it would have been the best to keep John out of that.

So he didn't understand. He didn't understand at all. “Really, it's fine. You can say anything to me.”

“It's not fine!” Harry yelled, as she placed her cup on the coffee-table with a loud 'smack!'. Tea splattered over the side and burnt her hands, but she barely noticed. Something had snapped inside her. “It's not bloody fine! You don't know what's going on!”

John looked at his sister, at the tears in her eyes and at her trembling and burnt hands, and realized that this wasn't about the alcohol. This was worse, and she needed help. He stayed calm. “Then tell me. I can't help you if I don't know what's going on.”

Finally, after a whole day of being completely blank, feeling nothing but emptiness, the tears came. Her sight became blurry and her eyes were stinging. “I don't need your help,” she snapped. She hid her face in her hands, so that John wouldn't see that she was crying. “Get the fuck out.”

Not realizing she was about to make a great mistake, she grabbed the first thing she could see, and threw it at her brother. The remote controller almost hit him in the face, but John was able to duck away just in time. His calmness disappeared immediately. “First you call me a million times inviting me over, and then you throw a remote at me?”

“Get OUT!” Harry's voice was muffled by a pillow, that she pressed to her face. It had the scent of a very familiar perfume, one that embraced her like a long-lost friend. It soothed her, calmed her down, but at the same time it hurt more than she could bear. Captured in her own pain, she didn't hear her brother leave.

And so she lost John too.

-

Days passed in silence. It was one of the few advantages of having not so many contacts: no one called or randomly visited you when you didn't want them to. It gave Harry the time and space to think.

She had never thought that she'd react this strong on the loss of Irene Adler. They'd only been together for half a year, but at the same time, that was probably the most important half year in Harriet's whole life. After being addicted to alcohol for six years, Irene had managed to help her with that for as much as possible. For a while, she actually believed she was fully recovered.

The empty bottles next to her bed made it very clear that she wasn't.

Slowly, very slowly, she began to realize that she needed her. She needed someone in her life to keep it on track, to keep her stable. Irene was the first to accomplish that. Now that she was gone, Harry felt oddly lost. Like a junkie without his drugs. 

She needed her.

-

It happened on the sixth morning after Christmas. The sixth time Harry woke up, hoping that it all had been a bad dream, and for a second it seemed that she was right. Although her sight was still hazy and she was still half-asleep, it was very clear that the spot next to her was just as warm as her own. Someone had been in there.

When she heard footsteps, her hope only began to grow bigger. The familiar sound of high heels tapping against the wooden floor alarmed her: could it be...

A woman peeked around the corner of Harriet's bedroom, and a big stab of disappointment hit Harry in her chest. Not Irene. It was her housemaid, a good-looking woman called Kate, that entered the room. “I'll take that from you,” she said, as she picked the half-full bottle of vodka from the floor next to the bed.

“How the hell did you get in?” 

Kate shrugged as she walked into the living room. “I unlocked the door and walked in. That's how most people get into houses, actually.”

Before Harry could ask further, another person entered the room. It was almost funny how her appearance explained everything and made things far more complicated at the same time. “She borrowed my key, dear.”

She could only stare. Her whole mind went numb – she even began to wonder if this was even real. But at that moment, Irene began to talk to her again.

“I needed to disappear for a while. To keep myself safe,” she explained, as she sat down on the bed. Kate closed the door behind her, and as soon as they had the privacy, the Woman finally looked Harry straight in the eye.

Irene looked at her, her face blank. The look in her eyes was different. Normally, they were piercing, full of fire, clearly full of unspoken words yet so unreadable. They were able to tell Harry things that Irene never said to her out loud. 'I love you' was a very common one. She had never said that, yet she had told her. So many times. With just one look. The look Harry loved the most. But this one was completely different. The wild, untameable flames were nothing more than glowing coals, the words nothing more than a small whisper but the message was clear.

'I missed you too.'


End file.
